


Flicker

by chromochaotic



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Minor Spoilers, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromochaotic/pseuds/chromochaotic
Summary: Grog's taken a particular interest in someone he’d never pegged himself going for: Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, of all souls. While the gang makes merry at a bonfire held in their honor, the goliath thinks back on where these feelings might've sparked.(Author is only on episode 22 and positive things have changed between this point and future events. Just taking a go at this while I feel the inspiration, haha.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I know this ship is nowhere near canon, in fact I think it becomes very un-canon very soon based on the episode I’m on. But, I've got a history of loving this type of character dynamic in different fandoms, and I can still just _so_ see how it would happen this time around

Grog, in Scanlan’s words, has “open arms and open eyes” when it comes to choosin' his... bed partners. He’s really not too picky, he agrees. They just gotta be a little pretty, and have a bit of spark in ‘em, and they gotta like Grog himself well enough. Not too much to ask for, but it’s not like he’ll roll in the hay with just anyone, either, damn it. (Well. Maybe after a cask or two of ale.)

He’s sure he hasn’t been drinking nonstop for the past month, though, which is why he’s more than confused about his recent wandering thoughts. Because, fuck it all, he’s  taken a particular interest in someone he’d never pegged himself going for over the last few weeks or so. 

Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, of all souls. The gunslinger’s been in Grog’s head for weeks now. Tonight, Grog can barely look away from him. The battle-worn human fits in with the firelight here; Vox Machina’s attending a bonfire festival in a little village, reveling in a recent, hard-earned victory that liberated the town, and indulging in the presentations of mead and meat offered by the grateful villagers. 

Way back when the gang met, Grog couldn’t imagine feelin’ a particular way for the tight-laced, cold-eyed li'l thing. Now, Grog guesses Percy is a bit of a looker. Nice face, good shoulders, tricky hands that make Grog feel some type of way when they’re tinkerin’. Percy’s got this way of movin’ that’s kind of distracting, honestly. Pike says it might be ‘cause of how he was raised, learning to walk gently and whatnot. It’s all just real nice, Grog thinks. Pleasin’ to look at. 

(Oh, right, another bad sign: Grog started talkin’ to Pike about these things a week ago, when he couldn’t well deny what he’d been thinkin’.)

But then there’s the way Percy fights. At first, Grog couldn’t understand the guns. Not just the way they worked, but how anyone could stand to kill like that. With goliaths, fightin’ is all about the fire, the thrill of a good punch, and the damn sweet satisfaction of an axe sinkin’ into an enemy’s face. How could firin’ those teeny, tiny bullets from so far away make any sense? And where was the honor of it? Grog knows folk live differently than him, but they gotta get their kicks from somewhere.

And then. Oh, that fight. The fight with the bulette changed everything. In those harsh, deep caverns of the underdark, Grog had to watch from afar as Percy got his arm near ripped off by the armored beast. But, where a regular fellow would’ve been cowerin’ and snivelin’, Percy… his eyes sparked. A sharp grin unfurled across his lips, and before Grog could even move to help him, the madman fired his gun  _ in the thing’s mouth.  _ And suddenly, all Grog could notice was the heat in Percy’s gaze. When he was lining up his sights with a mark, or when he nailed a good chemical-y thing in one of his explosives, or when he spat out one his more wild, frankly  _ monstrous _ plans, Percy’s laugh and wicked eyes snagged Grog’s mind. How could Grog have ever thought that Percy didn’t  _ feel _ when he fought? 

Now he knows, without a doubt, that this little hothead has more in common with Grog than he first realized. 

So he’s got the looks, and he’s got some kick. But what about the third thing? Does he like Grog?

Well, sure, seems like Percy’s slowly warmed up to Vox Machina nice enough. It took some time for Grog to chat one-on-one with him, given their different recreational preferences. But now they can trade some friendly ribbing, or share a hearty round of drinks from time to time.

Still, it doesn’t answer whether Percy sees him like  _ that. _ If Grog were a different, more careful sort of animal, he might wonder if he’s bein’ a bit obvious about his own feelings. For starters, he’s taken to keepin’ closest to Percy during his turns on watch. And, gods be damned, Grog’s done quite a bit to coax out Percy’s real laugh—not the sharp thing, that happens when there’s some mite of pain involved—no. Grog’s after the bright, shadowless thing, that lifts away some of the tension from the gunslinger’s face. It happens after certain jokes from the group, Grog’s noticed (Pike says those jokes are called “puns”). And it rings out for a few other things, too, like Pike bein’ smart with Scanlan, or Keyleth giving some poor sod in town a rough time (not that she ever means to, bless her). 

Grog knows he’s not quite the one gettin’ those smiles out of Percy, but sometimes he helps tip things in that direction, maybe. Pike seemed a little impressed when she heard how Grog put some of that stuff together. Grog’s pretty sure he should take it as a compliment. 

So that’s what Grog’s done, but Percy’s more of a closed-off sort, ain’t he? Grog’s only got two things to go on at this point, to tell how Percy feels. One, he’s caught Percy givin’ him a bit of a smile now and then, just a little thing. Seems like it pops up when Grog’s doin’ something cutesy with Pike, playing nice with her or Keyleth or some other. 

The other thing was a bit mystifyin’ when it happened, though. See, after particularly nasty run-ins, when Percy’s gotten his hands a bit dirtier than Grog thinks he’d have liked to, Percy comes to talk to Grog. He’ll sit there quietly for a spell, the two of them just nursin’ wounds in weighty silence, and then Percy will bring up some question. He’ll ask Grog if hurtin’ people ever makes him wanna stop fighting. He’ll ask Grog if he’s ever hurt the wrong person, or how he knows who the wrong people are. 

Grog always gives him a straight answer, ‘cause what use is it sugar-coatin’ the bloody stuff? Maybe some people might play it careful with Percy since he’s had a rough ride of it and all. But Grog just lays out what’s important to him, what he can do without, and how at the end of the day they’ve all got a place to rest and friends at their side. Grog thinks Percy likes the answers; he’ll stop wringing his hands, at least, and he’ll eat a few more bites at supper than he would otherwise. Maybe it counts. 

Maybe Grog counts, to Percy, and the flicker in those eyes ain’t just from the bonfire as their sights meet.

Grog’s been idling, watchin’ where Keyleth and Percy sit on a log near the flames. All of the gang’s been enjoyin’ the night freely, chattin’ up the villagers, partakin’ in some fine ale. But now things have drifted, quieted some, and Grog can’t help but feel a pull to where the two tipsy friends lounge together in the warmth. 

Grog nears the log, and Percy’s watched him since he started headin’ over. Keyleth, just seein’ Grog, stops whatever story she was tellin’ to smile cheerily at him. 

Grog, unceremoniously, plops himself down at Percy’s side and makes the entire heavy trunk beneath them jolt. He stares straight ahead into the flames. 

They’re all quiet for a beat. Then, Percy leans forward a bit, gettin’ Grog to just glance his way. 

“Grog,” he smoothly says. 

“Percy.” The answer back is even, steady. 

Keyleth looks between them for a stretch, and grins with a little slouch. “Guess I’ll just run off then,” she laughs. 

Once she’s out of view, Grog turns a little to meet Percy’s gaze.

He sees a spark. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short continuation that I've had laying around!

“Grog.”

“Percy.”

The gunslinger lets his gaze dart to Grog and away a few times, unsure of the goliath's intentions in joining him but pleased nonetheless. Percy has his hopes, but... he tries to find out more, asking, “Have you enjoyed the festival?”

“Sure, well enough." Grog shrugs. "Glad we all made it here alive today.”

Percy looks away, chargrinned. “It was quite a close call there for a moment. Maybe if I’d drawn more quickly, our survival wouldn’t be such a surprise in the end.”

“Ay, stop that.” Grog wraps an arm around Percy, hand cupping his shoulder warmly. “You were brilliant. You’re always damn brilliant,” he says with an encouraging jostle.

Percy's lips work for a moment, trying to come up with a response to the praise. He takes in the arm still around him, the comfort of the dancing fire, and decides that he might as well settle down and enjoy this moment. He murmurs, “Mm. I followed your example, then.”

Grog cracks a grin. “Was a bitch of a fight, anyway.”

Percy chuckles, thinking of some of the more slapdash moments of strategy. “It really was. Still, I’m surprised you haven’t emptied this town of their ale yet.”

If Percy didn't know better, he'd say that Grog almost sounds cautious when he replies, “Yeah, well. I’ve had a bit of a think tonight.”

“Is something _troubling_ you, Grog?” Percy asks with just a hint of laughter.

There's a pause, then, “Been wondering... Let's say some bloke wanted to court a fancy pants noble.” Grog breathes deep, then tilts his head so his eyes can slide to meet Percy's. "How much bullshit is there until they actually get around to kissin'?"

Percy, really and truly surprised for a moment, blinks rapidly. Grog is still staring down at him, and there's the slightest hint of tension that Percy can feel in the hand on his shoulder. And suddenly he realizes, he has to meet Grog in this.

Gently, Percy slips Grog's hand off his shoulder and stands from the log. He sees the goliath's shoulders go rigid.

But then, Percy comes to stand before Grog, places a deft hand on his forearm for balance, and leans in. It’s an aristocratic sort of thing, like a bow, except with a lovely stretch to it. And his lips against Grog's, well.

The kiss is warm, and smooth, and lingering in a way that matches Percy's usual way of being a smooth-talking, aristocratic tease when he's feeling playful.

"There," Percy breathes out in a starry whisper. He leans back just enough to meet Grog's gaze with a smile. “Is that about what you expected?”

An easy, open grin spreads across the goliath's face. “Just about, yeah.”

Percy hums in satisfaction. "Glad your curiosity is sated, then," he says in his most facetious lilt as he starts to turn on his heel and leave.

Grog's eyebrows jump, and he reaches out a hand to grab Percy even as he chuckles at the antics. “Now hold on,” he rumbles, tugging the smirking gunslinger back to him. "I've still got so much more to learn."

Percy's laughter fans between them just before their mouths meet, and he thinks Grog won't begrudge him the teasing, not when he sees the mirthful sparkle of his own eyes reflected in the gaze before him. 


End file.
